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Quick now, be this airy
Globe repelled!
Never can the fairy
Star be held.

Touched, it in a twinkle
Disappears!
Leaving but a sprinkle,
As of tears.

09 My Shadow, by Robert Louis
Stevenson, 1850-1894

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow--
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close behind me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

10 Child's Song in Spring, by Edith
Nesbit, 1858-1924
from A Pomander of Verse, 1895

The silver birch is a dainty lady,
She wears a satin gown;
The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady,
She will not live in town.

The English oak is a sturdy fellow,
He gets his green coat late;
The willow is smart in a suit of yellow,
While brown the beech trees wait.

Such a gay green gown God gives the larches--
As green as He is good!
The hazels hold up their arms for arches
When Spring rides through the wood.

The chestnut's proud, and the lilac's pretty,
The poplar's gentle and tall,
But the plane tree's kind to the poor dull city--
I love him best of all!

11 Raining, by Amelia Josephine Burr, 1878-1968
appeared in The Bellman Book of Verse, 1919

Raining, raining,
All night long;
Sometimes loud, sometimes soft,
Just like a song.

There'll be rivers in the gutters
And lakes along the street.
It will make our lazy kitty
Wash his little dirty feet.

The roses will wear diamonds
Like kings and queens at court;
But the pansies all get muddy
Because they are so short.

I'll sail my boat to-morrow
In wonderful new places,
But first I'll take my watering-pot
And wash the pansies' faces.

12 Over in the Meadow, or, The Rhymes by Which Mamma Taught Tot to Count to Twelve, by Olive A.
Wadsworth, 1835-1886
from Kit, Fan, Tot, and the Rest of Them, 1870

Over in the meadow,
In the sand, in the sun,
Lived an old mother toad
And her little toadie, one.
"Wink!" said the mother;
"I wink!" said the one,
So she winked and she blinked
In the sand, in the sun.

Over in the meadow
Where the stream runs blue,
Lived an old mother fish
And her little fishes, two.
"Swim!" said the mother;
"We swim!" said the two,
So they swam and they leaped
Where the stream runs blue.

Over in the meadow,
In a hole in a tree,
Lived a mother bluebird
And her little birdies, three.
"Sing!" said the mother;
"We sing!" said the three
So they sang and were glad
In the hole in the tree.

Over in the meadow
In the reeds on the shore,
Lived a mother muskrat
And her little ratties, four;
"Dive!" said the mother,
"We dive!" said the four,
So they dived and they burrowed
In the reeds on the shore.

Over in the meadow
In a snug bee-hive,
Lived a mother honey-bee
And her little honeys, five;
"Buzz!" said the mother,
"We buzz!" said the five,
So they buzzed and they hummed
In the snug bee-hive.

Over in the meadow
In a nest built of sticks,
Lived a black mother crow
And her little crows, six;
"Caw!" said the mother,
"We caw!" said the six,
So they cawed and they called
In their nest built of sticks.

Over in the meadow
Where the grass is so even,
Lived a gay mother cricket
And her little crickets, seven;
"Chirp!" said the mother,
"We chirp!" said the seven,
So they chirped cheery notes
In the grass green and even.

Over in the meadow
By the old mossy gate,
Lived a brown mother lizard
And her little lizards, eight;
"Bask!" said the mother,
"We bask!" said the eight,
So they basked in the sun
On the old mossy gate.

Over in the meadow
Where the clear pools shine,
Lived a green mother frog
A nd her little froggies, nine;
"Croak!" said the mother,
"We croak!" said the nine,
So they croaked and they splashed
Where the clear pools shine.

Over in the meadow
In a sly little den,
Lived a gray mother spider
And her little spiders, ten;
"Spin!" said the mother,
"We spin!" said the ten,
So they spun lace webs
In their sly little den.

Over in the meadow
In the soft summer even,
Lived a mother fire-fly
And her little flies, eleven;
"Shine!" said the mother,
"We shine," said th' eleven,
So they shone like stars
In the soft summer even.

Over in the meadow
Where the men dig and delve,
Lived a wise mother ant,
And her little anties, twelve;
"Toil!" said the mother,
"We toil," said the twelve,
So they toiled and were wise,
Where the men dig and delve.

13 The Prayer Perfect, by James
Whitcomb Riley, 1849-1916

Dear Lord! kind Lord!
Gracious Lord! I pray
Thou wilt look on all I love,
Tenderly to-day!
Weed their hearts of weariness;
Scatter every care
Down a wake of angel-wings
Winnowing the air.

Bring unto the sorrowing
All release from pain;
Let the lips of laughter
Overflow again;
And with all the needy
O divide, I pray,
This vast treasure of content
That is mine to-day!

The fairies have never a penny to spend,
They haven't a thing put by,
But theirs is the dower of bird and flower
And theirs is the earth and sky.
And though you should live in a palace of gold
Or sleep in a dried up ditch,
You could never be as poor as the fairies are,
And never as rich.

Since ever and ever the world began
They danced like a ribbon of flame,
They have sung their song through the centuries long,
And yet it is never the same.
And though you be foolish or though you be wise,
With hair of silver or gold,
You can never be as young as the fairies are,
And never as old.

15 Calico Pie, by Edward Lear,
1812-1888

Calico pie,
The little birds fly
Down to the calico-tree:
Their wings were blue,
And they sang "Tilly-loo!"
Till away they flew;
And they never came back to me!
They never came back,
They never came back,
They never came back to me!

Calico jam,
The little Fish swam,
Over the Syllabub Sea,
He took off his hat,
To the Sole and the Sprat,
And the Willeby-wat:
But he never came back to me;
He never came back,
He never came back,
He never came back to me.

Calico ban,
The little Mice ran,
To be ready in time for tea;
Flippity flup,
They drank it all up,
And danced in the cup:
But they never came back to me;
They never came back,
They never came back,
They never came back to me.

Calico drum,
The Grasshoppers come,
The Butterfly, Beetle, and Bee,
Over the ground,
Around and round,
With a hop and a bound;
But they never came back to me,
They never came back,
They never came back,
They never came back to me.

16 Weather,anonymous

Whether the weather be fine
Or whether the weather be not,
Whether the weather be cold
Or whether the weather be hot,
We'll weather the weather
Whatever the weather,
Whether we like it or not.

17 Try Again, by William Hickson,
1803-1870
appeared in "Supplement to the Courant: Volume 6," pg 225, 1840

'Tis a lesson you should heed--
Try again;
If at first you don't succeed,
Try again.
Then your courage should appear;
For if you will persevere,
You will conquer, never fear,
Try again.

Once or twice though you should fail,
If you would at last prevail,
Try again.
If we strive, 'tis no disgrace
Though we did not win the race--
What should you do in that case?
Try again.

If you find your task is hard.
Try again;
Time will bring you your reward,
Try again;
All that other folk can do,
Why with patience should not you?
Only keep this rule in view,
Try again.

18 The Blind Men and the Elephant--A
Hindu fable, by John Godfrey Saxe, 1816-1887

It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.

The First approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
'God bless me! but the Elephant
Is very like a wall!'

The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, 'Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me 'tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!'

The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake:
'I see,' quoth he, '`the Elephant
Is very like a snake.'

The Fourth reached out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee.
'What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain,' quoth he;
'Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!'

The Fifth who chanced to touch the ear,
Said: 'E'en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most:
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!'

The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
'I see,' quoth he, 'the Elephant
Is very like a rope!'

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!

So, oft in theologic wars,
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean,
And prate about an Elephant
Not one of them has seen!

19 Before the Rain, by Thomas Bailey
Aldrich, 1836-1907

We knew it would rain, for all the morn
A spirit on slender ropes of mist
Was lowering its golden buckets down
Into the vapory amethyst.

Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens--
Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers,
Dipping the jewels out of the sea,
To sprinkle them over the land in
showers.

We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed
The white of their leaves, the amber grain
Shrunk in the wind--and the lightning now
Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain!

20 After the Rain, by Thomas
Bailey Aldrich, 1836-1907

The rain has ceased, and in my room
The sunshine pours an airy flood;
And on the church's dizzy vane
The ancient cross is bathed in blood.

From out the dripping ivy leaves,
Antiquely carven, gray and high,
A dormer, facing westward, looks
Upon the village like an eye.

And now it glimmers in the sun,
A globe of gold, a disk, a speck;
And in the belfry sits a dove
With purple ripples on her neck.